TASHY DID - A LIFE
Hey kids, grand-kids, and any other nosey people who are reading these pages, this is for you to read now or sometime in the future. It may tell you a little
about how life was 60 or so years ago and rather more about me. Why am I doing it?
In the years after my father's death, way back in 1981, I kept thinking of things I wished I'd talked to him about. After my mother's death, just over
thirteen years later, there was less of a knowledge-vacuum because mother talked more about her past.
Just recently, my daughter and I unearthed my mother's diaries which went back to 1929, when she was just 13 years old. This reminded me of the 1998
incident with my 6 year old and I decided to put down here the story of my life so my children and grandchildren could, if they wished, read about what I had done. I would use my
memory and those diaries to build a picture from 1949 to the present day and add some personal observations.
So, here we go. Each week we will have a new year with preceding weeks being archived. In the first few years, as I will have less to say, probably, I will
add some info about your grandparents and their parents.
1965
No real change this year. When I had restarted back at school in 1963, I was in two-year stream to take “O” levels. For some reason, which I never understood, halfway through that first year we were told we were converting to a 3 year stream. The Head came to our room to tell us and my learned friend, and future historian, didn’t like it one bit. His aim, I believe, was university as quick as possible and this would delay that aim. Despite all his efforts, it made no difference and, just like with a Massachusetts policeman, he came off worst. We did, however, have one concession. We could take English, Maths, French and Latin, I think, in this year. We did and I passed two of them, which is why I am writing this in English in a calculated sort of way.
For my birthday this year, father bought me a cine camera and started an interest that continues to this day. I would spend hours making my own little movies and animations, filming a single frame at a time. For those of you who are a little younger than I, I should perhaps explain how you did this. You would place a spool of film in your camera and shut the little flap. You would then wind up your camera, which would give you about 45 seconds shooting time, before you had to wind it again. After two minutes, you would open the flap, turn the spool over and film another two minutes. You would then take the spool from the camera, put it in a silver covered container and post if off to Kodak. A week or so later, you would receive a spool of film back from them, four minutes long.
Editing was even more fun. You needed a splicer and some cement. You would look through your film and find where you wanted to make the edit. You would place your film in the splicer, shut the flap in the centre, which would cut the film at the selected place. You would remove the part you didn’t need from the right hand side and insert the new part in its place, apply some cement to both sides, close the flap without the serrated, cutting bit and, hey presto, you had a film. Of course it wasn’t quiet that easy or simple and I would often have little bits of super 8 film hanging around my bedroom.
This then was my new hobby and took up some of my time. The cricket practice continued but, as I said, the bike had gone. I could have asked for a new bike, and a bigger one, but that could not have been ridden around the garden being too large (the bike not the garden). Some time this year when we were at my cousins I did try riding her bike, which she used to cycle over to our house nearly every day of the holiday. A bit like my experience some years ago in Leeds, I made ground and pedal contact. This time, as I cycled quite rapidly, over the little bridge connecting to the two sides of their lovely pond. The pedal caught the little wall my uncle had built. Luckily the wall was made with strong cement as it remained intact and didn’t join me and the bike, and the goldfish, in the pond. Rather embarrassingly, I had to go home in my cousin’s shorts.
In August we had our first holiday in three years and started the first of what would become an annual summer visit to Norfolk. Each time we stayed at the Old Forge in Southrepps, run by a really nice Norfolk couple and their son. We always had a great time and, of course, this year I had a cine camera to record the event. Sadly, no record remains.
By now, father had realised I would not make a violinist. Since summer 1963 we had a kitten, by then approaching cat status, and whenever I started to play, people would rush out to see where the cat had got trapped. For Christmas 1963, he had bought me a guitar and this became the replacement for riding the bike. I would spend hours in my bedroom at night, weekends and holidays playing but that old shyness was still there because, when someone at school asked me to join their group, initially, I said no. Coupled to that, in February this year, my aunt sent us her piano, the one father had entertained us on when we stayed there in 1959. I could now resume my piano playing too. I think it was around this time that, apart from books about sport, I stopped reading. Compulsory books in English lessons took the enjoyment away and it was some years before I started again; by some I would say maybe 15 or more.
By the way, the above picture shows very clearly the state of our grass after years of abuse by yours truly. This area was where I had stood for that catching practice off the wall and was just short of a good length on the diagonal cricket pitch.
By now, father had realised I would not make a violinist. Since summer 1963 we had a kitten, by then approaching cat status, and whenever I started to play, people would rush out to see where the cat had got trapped. For Christmas 1963, he had bought me a guitar and this became the replacement for riding the bike. I would spend hours in my bedroom at night, weekends and holidays playing but that old shyness was still there because, when someone at school asked me to join their group, initially, I said no. Coupled to that, in February this year, my aunt sent us her piano, the one father had entertained us on when we stayed there in 1959. I could now resume my piano playing too. I think it was around this time that, apart from books about sport, I stopped reading. Compulsory books in English lessons took the enjoyment away and it was some years before I started again; by some I would say maybe 15 or more.
By the way, the above picture shows very clearly the state of our grass after years of abuse by yours truly. This area was where I had stood for that catching practice off the wall and was just short of a good length on the diagonal cricket pitch.
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